“They were functional junkies and alcoholics. Would you believe they managed to go to work and get by? They were always quiet, trying not to attract attention, so nobody noticed them for a long time.”
“They were…?”
“Are,” I corrected myself. I didn’t want anything to do with them and often used past tense when talking about them. “They just about managed to pay rent and buy a little bit of food, but most of their money was spent on drugs. When they were behind on rent, the landlord kicked them out. They pulled themselves together for a while and behaved, found a new place to stay, went to work… before they fell right back into it. We used to move a lot. When they didn’t have a job, they made money however they could. Most of what they were doing wasn’t legal, but somehow they were able to get away with it. It didn’t take long for my mother to realise that a very effective way to make money was to sell her body.”
Connie’s eyes widened in shock. Could she predict what was coming?
“I have no idea how long it took before her body was so destroyed that only the really desperate were still interested. The ones who didn’t have much choice. And yet the clientele was so extensive, and the requests so numerous.”
She shook her head and I knew she didn’t want me to say it out loud. I did it anyway.
“I was seven when someone crept into my bedroom for the first time.”
No! I don’t want to! My baby voice had been haunting my nightmares for almost thirty years.
Then the other one, the rough, male one. If you make a noise I’ll slit your throat. Be a good boy now and lie down here.
I didn’t even have to go into details. Connie had heard enough.
“At the age of twelve, I finally realised I didn’t have to put up with these regular client visits.” My face twisted at those words. “Any life was better than what was happening at home. I packed up my stuff and ran away. I lived on the street and…”
She raised her eyebrows. “And?”
My voice was shaking when I told her about the years of barely getting by, and about a kind lady who took me in, who I started to call Grandma. How I finally, for the first time in my life, felt content and whole. And that, not long after, someone heartless and selfish tore that feeling apart. By the end of my monologue my voice was husky and we were both teary.
“I went to therapy when I was older, and then decided to become a therapist myself, to help others like me. But it’s hopeless, Connie. You can’t help people like me, because these memories cannot be erased, and those who say they can get over it are lying to themselves!” I cleared my throat. “You wouldn’t believe how many people ask for help. And that’s just a fragment of those who were raped and abused. Most people just bear it, because they think they don’t have any other choice, or they don’t know what to do to stop it.”
There was another moment of quiet. I already felt like I was giving her too much information at once. I wanted to give her some space to absorb it all.
“What happened to the other ones?” she spoke, her voice unnaturally high.
“Who?”
“The others from The Collective. Why do they want to end it all?”
I was silent for a moment and Connie waited patiently for my answer. She’d heard my confession and still wanted to know other stories of destroyed lives and broken hearts.
“Andrew… lost his wife and a three-year old daughter. Someone hit them with their car when they were crossing the street, drove away, left them lying there.”
She covered her mouth with her hand again.
“It was an accident, and those happen, right?” I sighed ironically. “You know, if somebody had helped them they could have survived. All they had to do was tilt the woman’s head so she could breathe. And his daughter… she wouldn’t have bled to death if someone’d put a bandage on her injury or… I dunno, just a stupid t-shirt. But what were the passers-by doing?”
“They took out their phones,” added Andrew, who’d walked over to us, “and started filming them lying there. It took almost ten minutes before someone called an ambulance, but of course by then it was too late.”
Connie closed her eyes and dried her cheeks. I couldn’t have been far from the truth imagining that she’s thinking about how she would feel in that situation. If her own daughter had been caught in an accident and died only because nobody managed to get a grip and provide basic first aid.
Even my chest felt tight listening to this story, and I didn’t have any children.
“So you can imagine that Andrew sees the human population as spoilt and selfish at best. I don’t blame him.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. Was she going to agree with me?
Andrew turned directly to her. “You wouldn’t believe how many people agree with our plan. All over the world there are more volunteers than we can use. They want to end the suffering and this miserable existence just like us.”
She wasn’t arguing and didn’t try to persuade me that she knew a lot of people who led a happy, fulfilling life without problems and pain. Working for the police, she’d been exposed to the evil of this world for too long to believe that fairytale.
“Connie?”
She turned to me and answered with an unsteady voice: “Yeah?”
“I don’t think you came here to be persuaded and shown evidence,” I said. “I think you already believe it all and you’re here to make sure that Ruby and Frank get out of this alive. Am I right?”
Then she finally let go of the last bits of restraint and started openly crying. In between her sobs, she nodded.
Frank
Connie came home when
